Sleepless Nights
by Shadowesque13
Summary: Sometimes it's better to face your fears instead of running away. Deathfic.


Sleepless Nights  
by Shadowesque13  
Genre: Angst  
Rating: PG  
Summary: Sometimes it's better to face your fears, instead of running away. Deathfic.  
Spoilers: "The Communicator" and "Minefield".  
Disclaimer: I don't own Malcolm or anything pretty much in this whole fic. Only the fic itself is mine.

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Malcolm Reed couldn't sleep. No matter how he tossed and turned, he could not sleep. He decided to get up. His bare feet made contact with the hard, cold metal that the floor was made of, just like everything else on the ship.  
  
Shuffling into the bathroom, the Lieutenant checked himself in the mirror. The bags under his eyes indicated he had gotten little sleep. He supposed it wasn't really not being able to sleep. Sometimes he didn't want to sleep. He was afraid. Afraid of the nightmares that had started only two weeks ago. The dreams consisted mainly of the things that had already happened to him, like when he got trapped on the hull in that Romulan minefield, or of the time he lost his communicator on that pre-warp planet and was nearly hung.  
  
There was one in particular, however, that frightened him. It had him in the middle of a wide ocean. Only ten feet away, on a rowboat, was his father. He'd always try to swim toward his father, but then, of course, his aquaphobia would strike him and he would begin to splash around wildly. Then he'd go under a few times, through the whole time his father yelling things like, "You'll never make a good sailor, boy!", and, "You're a disgrace to the Reed family name." No matter how hard he tried, Malcolm could never get to the boat. Before he woke, he would see his reflection in the salty water. He always looked like his sixteen-year-old self, trying to look brave but ending up looking more scared than anything; then he would sink into the water. He noticed he never died in his dream, always waking before it happened.  
  
That's why he had been ordered by the Captain to get some help from the doctor. The good doctor had given him a bottle of sleeping pill. "Remember," Doctor Phlox told him, "only take one each night." Why only one? He had taken one, and still he wasn't asleep. Sure, they worked, but never fast enough. Always too slow. He wanted sleep, not the dreams. The pills just didn't work fast enough for him. So he began to open the container again. He took out one of the blue-ish tablets and filled a glass of water. After placing the pill into his mouth, he took a sip of the crystal clear water and swallowed. Again, he stared into the mirror. He couldn't go another sleepless night. He didn't want to be awoken in the middle of the dark--although it was always dark in space—by nightmares. A deep, deep sleep, where his terrifying dreams couldn't reach him. Two pills couldn't possibly be enough for that, and he still wasn't asleep.  
  
He proceeded to force down another pill, then another, and yet another. Seeing as he still wasn't asleep, down went another tablet. Soon, in the time-frame of about 15 minutes, he was slumped on the floor with and empty bottle in his hand. He had taken a lethal dose.  
  
The room began to swirl and blur around him. An overwhelming need to close his eyes enveloped him, and he embraced the feeling. He closed his heavy eyelids and rested his head on the wall behind him. Placing a hand on his head, he tried to keep his head from spinning wildly out of control. He began to feel numb all over, from his head down to his toes. The feeling, or lack thereof, was interesting. It reminded him of the mine incident. The way he felt as the breath was being sucked out him after pulling out his air hose to end the argument he was having with the Captain. It also stirred up memories of the dreams he had about that and he quickly remembered why he had done this.  
  
He was falling. At least, it felt like he was falling. It was like plunging into a dark abyss from which he could hide from all of his fears. He tried to smile at the thought, but the darkness was tugging at him and forcing himself deeper finally into sleep. That was just what he wanted.  
  
Suddenly cold, the dark faded from his memory and he was back in a dream. It didn't work. He kept thinking about how his little plan had just failed and he back in a dream. The boat, his father, and the freezing ocean water lapping at his clammy skin indicated that knew what dream this was. Realizing that he was now in water, he began to struggle and tried to swim. However, his fear of drowning prevented him to make any progress. He could barely keep his head above the water. His father was yelling insults that he wasn't even hearing, but they still hurt all the same. Under the water he went, trying not to take a lung-full of it as he did so. His arms hurt; so did his legs. He wasn't sure how much longer he could do this. Perhaps his dream couldn't end the way it always had. If he could just get past his fear... Something registered in his mind then. Isn't that why he took so many pills? To get away from his fears? Then again, it was only getting away from them, not getting past. There was a difference.  
  
He couldn't do it. He was too weak, and the safety of the boat so far away. Coughing and sputtering from the water that filled his mouth, he knew that the dream this time around was more vivid than it had ever been. Almost like he was really there. The pain in his chest from lack of oxygen was sharper, and the glare from the sun was brighter. He wanted to wake up. He longed for the sound of his alarm at 0500 sharp jostling him from the depths of the night. He ever so wanted to see some strange planet on the viewscreen on the Bridge instead of this disgusting liquid. He wanted to reverse the effects of the pills and to be out of this nightmare.  
  
Then he noticed his reflection. He sighed in relief, at first, knowing that the dream was nearly over, but upon closer inspection he gasped in shock. It wasn't the face of his younger self, looking afraid, yet trying to be brave at the same time. It was his face. The face of him now. And it looked positively frightened out of it's wits. He looked like a coward. He looked as if he was running away from something in shame. He looked as though he wasn't trying to be brave in the least, and just looked like a coward. He looked like he was running scared from something that he should be facing. He went under for the last time and inhaled water. He drowned in his dream. That had never happened before. He drowned in a dream that showed him as a coward. Then it hit him. It finally snapped in his brain, but all too late. It was all too late for his realization. All too late for him to change anything.  
  
Malcolm's heart stopped beating.


End file.
